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December 29, 2006

It's All So Simple, Really...

Let me play psychic for a moment and tell you what is missing from your 12 Days of Christmas, or whatever you celebrate.

Pooping.

Think about it. It's like taking a vacation but staying home. Strange food, strange hours, strange people and running on someone else's schedule. You don't feel sluggish and mopey because of some emotional onslaught, or the ghosts of Christmases past inflicting their lengthy shadows. You feel lousy because you've upset the delicate balance you strive all year to keep in place.

When I was a kid, I hung out with a lot of seniors. Don't ask. I've already admitted to being a weird kid. We would talk about weather, and the olden days, odd food, and pooping. Well, they would. I'd listen. But it became rapidly apparent to me that some topics were mighty important to the elderly. And visits from their kids were second on the list.

When I had kids, the only things that mattered to them were eating, sleeping, punishing each other, and pooping. Not much has changed. As a parent, you monitor what goes into, and out of, your kid like some Olympic coach. You want good results, you pay attention to the details. And limit the cheese.

And of course, somewhere in between toddler and senior, the discussion evaporates. Everyone is JUST fine, thankyouverymuch. Except at holiday times, where you turn your body into a giant theme park and wonder why there are such long lineups.

When my sister was here on Christmas Eve, she made a giant salad and plunked it onto the table. 'Eat', we were instructed. We ate.

So, put down the Paxil, or leave the dose alone. Stay away from the buffet tables, stop at the second glass of wine, and steer clear of the nuts. Even if you're related to them.

Instead, pull up a chair next to grandma. She'll tell you what's what.